Into the Wrong Hands
by barneyrockz
Summary: What if Anne never got Wentworth's letter? Instead it fell to the hands of Lady Russell. Can they still reach a happy ending, or will the couple be doomed to forever thinking the other no longer loves them?


Lady Russell approached the door of her friend's house in Camden Place. Just as she was about the pull the bell, a dirty boy came running up to the door, nearly running straight into the distinguished lady. She stuck her chin up high, and demanded the boy to tell her of his business.

"Please ma'am, I got a letter here for a Miss Anne Elliot. And I'm to give it to none but her." Lady Russell could not help, but wonder at who would send her friend a letter in such a way.

"Who is it from?" The boy hopped from foot to foot, clearly anxious to finish his mission.

"I don't know, ma'am." Lady Russell stuck out her hand to the boy.

"Well, give it here. I am just going to call on Anne, so I can give it to her." The boy shook his head.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but he gave me two shillings and promised me another two so long as the letter goes to none, but her." Lady Russell reached into the folds of her dress and after searching a moment, produced a coin.

"Here's a whole sovereign to give me the letter and you can tell the man that the letter got to her safely." The boy looked around him carefully, before trading his letter for the sovereign. Upon finishing his mission, he took off, eager to get the rest of his reward.

Lady Russell looked down at the letter. Flipping it over she saw that it was indeed addressed to Anne, but her name was written in a masculine hand. Worried for her friend, she broke open the seal and began to read.

_I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope._

Lady Russell paused in her reading to wonder what kind of man would write such a love note, for surely it could not be Mr. Elliot.

_Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own, than when you almost broke it eight years and a half ago._

Eight years and a half ago? This could be no other than Captain Wentworth! He was proposing, again? Didn't he understand that Anne deserved better? A sea captain was not good enough for Lady Russell's friend and a Baronet's daughter.

_Dare no say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone I think and plan.-Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes?-I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice, when they would be lost on others.-Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating in_

_F.W._

Here was proof that the undeserving man, planned to try again to take Anne in. Lady Russell tensed, but continued the letter.

_I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never._

Lady Russell's eyes stopped at the bottom of the page and continued to stare at the blank spot there. He was planning to propose! There was only one part of the letter that gave her encouragement, and that was that he didn't know what her feelings for him were. She acted reserved around him, and she would act no differently, unless she was given news of the gentleman's feelings for her. Thus Lady Russell folded the letter carefully and put in her pocket. She rung the doorbell and was led into the drawing room. While she waited for Anne, the letter was taken out again and cast into the fireplace, where it shriveled and burned beyond recognition. There was no longer any fear that such a low marriage would take place for her friend.

* * *

Wentworth observed Anne carefully, searching for something, anything that showed that she welcomed his affection. She was so reserved, treating him no better than she had before. His heart plummeted like a rock. Not a single word or even a look gave him an encouragement. She had moved on. It was time for him to do the same; if he could.

It had been foolish to even think that she would be his. Just because there was no truth in her marrying Mr. Elliot, did not mean she would accept his feelings. He did not regret the letter. At least he could say that he had tried. He was just too late.

Obediently he took her arm, resigned to leading her back home. No matter how many times he had dreamed of holding her thus, the action gave him no pleasure. In his dreams she could still love him, but in the cruel light of reality, she could not.

On the doorstep, he left her. She stared after him, and called after, but he saw and heard neither. He didn't look back, for if he had, he knew he would never be able to leave, and leave he must. For, once again he had lost her, but this time, he could blame no one but himself.

* * *

That didn't turn out very well, I'm sorry. When I first had the idea it was supposed to be a comedy. I've been feeling down lately (not really sure why). I have had about five P&P ideas that don't end happily either

This story is complete for now, but someday I may dig it back out and give it a happy ending, but for now, it remains as it is.


End file.
